


Reigns

by lokiloo



Series: Athven, the Inquisitor. [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Light BDSM, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokiloo/pseuds/lokiloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>gratuitous porn, no regets, YOLO SWAG</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reigns

**Author's Note:**

> Please accept my Dalish Archer Athven as your lord and savior thanks.

No matter what Athven might be- a dalish, a hunter, the herald or the inquisitor- he will never be more then when he’s with Bull.

He makes him better, in all things; in battle, hulking the enemies and their attention so Athven can aim a killing arrow. in travel, where Bull will lend and ear and laugh through even the harshest terrain. In Skyhold, with the chargers, his own clan, bringing Athven into a fold of people who are as broken and strange and wonderful as all the people who end up here, within the safety of the ancient stones that fall around them. Bull is a calm when Athven is a rage, he is a fire when Athevn needs spark. 

And they have so little in common until they do, deep down- past their contrasting skin and race, their sizes and their beginnings. They are the same in mind, in ideals and passions and hopes, and even where they are not there is understanding and respect. Athevn has never felt so close to anyone before, even the first meeting, even having never seen a Qunari before.

-But there is no place better for them then here. There is no place they fit better, connect, then like this.

Athven thinks about this, rolls it like a mantra, in a strained effort not to come.

“You’re doing well,” Bull says, one massive hand feeling like it could hold his entire waist, dull claws catching just right, while the other continues to stretch his body open, three fingers, then four, and Athven wishes he could grab both of them, hold bull’s hand in one and reach behind and feel the others, feel where fingers meet himself, if only for the ropes that tie his hands behind his back. He’s wet from the two times Bull has finished, from his entrance to his thighs, and he feels loose in some places but so very tight in others. Where there was urgency is now a low thrum of need, not to finish but to listen, to follow, to be lead.

“You aren’t fighting now, are you,” Bull asks lightly, though even that soft of a question is a deep rumble through Athven’s spine. Of course he’s not fighting now- the time for fighting, for resisting, is done. Bull is in charge now, knows what’s best, but even if Athven knows this he’ll always fight; its not in his nature to give up so easily, to let someone lay him down and take control. He needs to fight, to have Bull make him calm, still, and Bull is that much of a better person to understand this, to give Athven the fight he needs, as well as the power. 

His cheek feels rough from the sheets, from being held down and used the times before, and there is a hot feeling of shame-excite when he thinks of how obscene he must look on the bed- ass up, face down, hands tied behind as Bull’s huge fingers move unhurriedly into him. He remembers his advisors’ disturbance at a time, even before they had really done anything, and his face burns at the idea of another interruption. His cock hangs heavy, past the point of hurting, and still he holds out because Bull told him to, he told him not to come and he won’t until he’s allowed because this is what matters, giving up his body and mind to Bull right now, for a moment, so he doesn’t have to be The Inquisitor or The Herald or anything beyond Athven, alive and awake.

Bull shifts slightly, and his cock drags against Athven’s thigh. He’s hard again, smearing wet with every touch, and Athven nearly cries out. He won’t though, not yet, and because that is something Bull must work for, and he knows it; Athven will give his heart, his soul, everything to Bull but he has to work for it, and oh, how grateful is he that Bull will.

Fingers leave, and there’s a gaping loss that feels obscene, till Bull pushes himself in by one smooth thrust. It shouldn’t be surprising, after two rounds of it, but his breath hitches and his knees quake, still struck by how large he is. He’s know he’ll fit, he’s fit every other time, but still a part of him whimpers at the thought of ‘too much this time, won’t make it, I’ll break’. Bull starts out slow, too slow for what Athven needs, and it’s the sort of pleasure that is too much pain, and everything is white hot and too little and there isn’t anything he can do but bite his lip and try not to fall. Bull told him to stay up, told him not to come and He’ll do it, he’ll do it because this is what he’s supposed to do.

Large hands move to his hips, and the pace quickens. His knees feel like they’ll go, and Bull’s fingers tighten, claws digging in, and Athven is powerless against Bull’s strength, each thrust hitting him in the way that nearly pounds the breath away, that makes his toes clench and his eyes stings from how much it feels.

Except he’s not powerless. He knows he could say it- knows the hard ‘Ka’ with a soft ‘toh’; he knows everything would stop, that Bull would stop, because Bull is kind and good beneath every rough touch and harsh stroke. There is trust here, that Athven will know his limit and Bull will respect it, and it’s because of that trust that Athven won’t. It’s sweeter, brighter, knowing he has the power to end it with just a word, just a whisper of a breath. 

Bull may be the one to hold him down, but Athven knows where the power lies. He knows it every time Bull swipes a hand down his flank, whispers Qunari words into his ear, looks at him with an eye full of wonder and gratitude. Though tied with rope, Athven has never been the one bound.

Bull leans down, his chest covering Athven’s entire back, and an arm moves forward to grab his torso. Then he leans back, and suddenly Athven his bouncing on his lap, still bound, Bull’s arm braced across his chest as he thrusts upward. It’s like a fire flickering from across his skin, he feels bound and free at the same time, Bull behind him and holding him and inside him and he can’t take it anymore, he can’t, his eyes sting and his ear catches on the rough scratch of Bull’s horn and it’s the most glorious thing he’s ever felt, it’s too good too much and he finally gives in- takes a shuttering breath, then another, and he turns his head to Bull’s ear. “Please,” He whispers, rough and low. “Please.”

Bull’s arm clenches, holding Athven like he’s Bull’s lifeline, and he lets out a low moan that shakes Athven down to his wick. He bites down then, canines bearing into the juncture between neck and shoulder, and Athven can’t help the whine that escapes. His toes ache from clenching, his arms ache from being pulled back, and in this moment there is nothing but the white space of need and want and love. Bull ruts behind him, hard and relentless, and nothing is more perfect then the moment between now and the end.

Bull comes not long after, and Athven feels the wet heat drip from out of him, onto his thighs and downward. It makes his face heat, makes him squirm, but mostly it makes him hot and heavy; he wants Bull, wants him everywhere and always, and to have him inside is something Athven will never forget, never not want.

He lays him down again, ass presented up, and Athven can’t catch his breath. He wants to come. He needs to come, but Bull hasn’t said yet, and it’s terrible and wonderful all at once. Bull moves slowly, languid as he pleases, and all the while Athven is shivering, shaking out of hi bones.

“Kadan,” He whispers, and the elf nearly keens. “Kadan, you’re so good, you’ve been so good, look at you.” Athven can’t look at himself, doesn’t think he ever would when he’s like this, but the praise in Bull’s voice, the awe and wonder, makes him feel good, better then good. He’s panting, still, feels like he’s on the tip of a mountain just waiting to fall, and Bull is the only one who holds him back. It’s torture. It’s paradise. It’s everything he never knew he needed.

Bull moves his large hands to his ass again, spreads it wide, and Athven is beyond shame. His breath hitches, short gasps as Bull pushes his seed back into him, wipes the rim of his opening with large pads. “You’re perfect, beautiful.” Bull says this like it’s a fact, like any sane person would know it, and Athven can’t control his heart.

Then Bull moves one large hand to Athven’s prick, strokes it once. “Now come.”

And he does.

Athven couldn’t tell you what goes through his mind after they couple like this- when it’s over, when he’s finally allowed to seek release. He doesn’t think anything, to be honest; its more feelings, a calm and content wash the paints everything is light colors and sweetness in his mind. He doesn’t really exist in this points, maybe, or maybe he exists too much. All he knows is he’s happy, and safe, and Bull’s heartbeat beneath his elven ears sounds like a drum, steady and sure.

It’s seconds, or maybe lifetimes, until Athven starts to feel himself again. His arms are untied, limp and tingling. He can feel how soiled he is, inside and out, and yet he has never felt lighter, cleaner. He can hear Bull’s quiet murmurs, soft even for his ears. Then it’s a tiredness in his limbs, a weight on his back- Bull’s arms. Words that sound like love and cherished joy, proud and awed.

It’s another moment till Bull shuffles Athven off of him, onto the bed. Athven protest, grasping for Bull’s shoulders and arms. He just laughs, smooths down his hair and cups his face. “Back in a flash.”

He is, actually. The bed dips with a weight that could only be from Bull, and Athven feels a wash cloth runs down his back. A large hand runs down after, like a balm, like a prayer. Athven closes his eyes and doesn’t wish for anything.


End file.
